


The Blanket Hoarder

by medjackjeff (zephyr_lynx)



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Fluff, M/M, pure fluff and no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyr_lynx/pseuds/medjackjeff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quick Minewt one-shot I wrote based on a headcanon of mine. It's a pretty self-explanatory modern AU, just boyfriends being cute with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blanket Hoarder

It was one of those rare, rare occasions where Newt was awake before Minho. The latter was definitely a morning person, whilst Newt…wasn’t. At all. He would never understand how Minho could just wake up, put on clothes and _go for a run_. Seriously, who does that?

So it was quite a nice surprise for him to cast up his eyes and see Minho still tangled in the sheets.

Of course, it simultaneously served as a grim reminder that his boyfriend was a terrible blanket hoarder. Newt’s entire back felt cold, and he swore under his breath. Minho’s only reaction was that he rolled onto his stomach, pulling even more of the blanket with him.

Newt stared at the back of his boyfriend’s head. “Really? You’re even annoying me when you’re sleeping?”

Minho’s only answer was a little snort.

Newt rolled his eyes – amazing that Minho managed to make him do that even when he was sound asleep – and moved lazily over to the left side of the bed, snuggling closer to his boyfriend’s back.

He folded his arms and rested them on Minho’s back, propping his head onto them. His boyfriend had ruffled the sheets in a matter that left the biggest part of his bare back uncovered. A blanket hoarder who didn’t even use the blanket he hoarded. What an idiot.

“Seriously, what do I like about you?” Newt murmured. “You’re a bloody moron.”

His words didn’t hold any scorn however. On the contrary, he liked the sight of his usual tough, controlled Minho laying there, his arms clutched under the pillow, his hair ruffled, his face smushed in the cushion like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Stretched out as he was, Minho showcased the tattoo winding over his left scapula. Black and dark blue lines crossed, aligned and knotted together again to form a complex maze pattern. Newt knew every stroke, every curve they made. After all, he’d inked them into his skin.

Newt carefully let his fingers trail over the tattoo. Minho usually didn’t show it off in all its glory. He wasn’t the biggest fan of running around shirtless anywhere but the apartment. So Newt did consider it some kind of a privilege to be able to redraw the lines on his back without Minho backing off.

The blond meticulously retraced the way through the maze. He knew it inside out, had lost count of the many times he’d done this, just letting his fingertips brush lightly over Minho’s skin.

Newt’s fingers reached the centre of the maze, and he drew a few little circles there before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on the spot. Then, he just rested his head on his arms, closed his eyes and savoured the peace and quiet of the morning, the steady up and down of his boyfriend breathing beneath him.

Not that it stayed peaceful and quiet for long, though.

“Why’d you stop?” a muffled voice said just loud enough for him to hear.

“’cause I solved the bloody maze.” Newt murmured back in the same volume.

“Nah, you found the middle. To solve a maze you gotta get out of it again, no?”

“Really? You wanna argue about this at nine in the morning?” Newt protested.

“ _Nine?_ ” Minho repeated.

Before the Brit could realize that he had made a stupid, stupid mistake – beginner’s mistake, really – one that cut short their time in bed together, Minho had already practically jumped up, throwing Newt ruggedly off his back.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed while searching through a pile of clothes.

“You threw your sweatpants on that chair yesterday.” Newt said helpfully, sitting up. “But can’t you cut the running for one day?” He knew the answer, but it didn’t keep him from trying.

“You know the answer.” Minho replied promptly. “I don’t want to mess up my routine.”

“Your routine is already messed up.” Newt climbed out of bed.

“Time to un-mess-up it again, then.” Minho had found his sweatpants and put them on.

He wanted to put on his t-shirt when he felt familiar hands on his hips, arms that wrapped around his waist, fingers which skilfully untied the knot on his pants.

Lips started following a familiar pattern on his left shoulder blade, Newt’s tongue flicking out every now and then.

“And you can’t postpone the un-messying just a little bit more?” he breathed innocently against his skin.

Minho would never admit it aloud, but he adored this. Newt’s little touches, the fleeting kisses on his tattoo that he knew practically by heart. It was intimacy he’d never shared with anyone before.

So it took all of his might to resist as Newt’s fingers wandered beneath the waistband of his pants. He turned around in his boyfriend’s grip, suddenly face to face with him. Newt’s dark eyes slowly went up to meet his, a light smile on his lips, and Minho almost faltered.

Almost.

Minho quickly leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Newt’s lips.

“When I get back. Promised.” he then whispered. He was out of the door in the blink of an eye, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

“I must be losing my flair!” Newt called after him.

Laughter was the first answer. “Believe me, you’re not!”

Newt smiled to himself. More mornings should start off like this.

(And Minho did keep up to his promise. Made it pretty clear to Newt that he wasn’t losing his flair. The sweatpants didn’t turn up again for a few weeks.)

* * *

 

It happened for the first time a few weeks later. They were at the bar, hanging with their friends. Or in this case, having a heated discussion about Monty Python’s The Holy Grail. It was, on top of it, a completely serious discussion about the uttermost ridiculous topic in the history of ridiculous topics.

“Gally, nobody in this whole universe would want to bang Prince Herbert. _Nobody_.”  

“I would. Maybe.” Gally replied.

“Me too.” Thomas agreed.

“You’re nuts.” Newt dismissed. “Why would you?” He casually put his hand on Minho’s shoulder, and his boyfriend was amazed on how used he was to this by now. Minho didn’t like people who invaded his personal space. But Newt had managed to sneak past his defences a long time ago.

“Actually, I’d really want to know if he’d continue singing throughout the intercourse or not.” Thomas explained with a completely straight face.

 Brenda and Teresa started laughing while Newt just looked incredulous. He immediately started another questioning round, mainly led by the ominous ‘Why the bloody hell would you wanna know that??’, but Minho wasn’t listening.

First, because this was probably the dumbest discussion he’d ever witnessed (which really, really meant something, since these few people were his closest friends).

Second, because Newt’s thumb had begun trailing over his left scapula. Minho froze, held completely still. A bit from right to left, followed by a few ninety-degree turns…he knew this pattern. Of course he did.

Minho glanced to the side. Newt was still heavily disputing world’s stupidest topic with Thomas and Gally while Teresa and Brenda just watched, barely able to contain their laughter. His boyfriend noticed his stare and gave him the quickest of smiles before turning back.

It hit Minho that Newt was doing this on purpose. Retracing his tattoo through the fabric of his shirt for no other apparent purpose than to show how close they were without anyone else noticing. Minho felt heat flush through his entire body, warmth that reminded him of how lucky he actually was. He despised great depictions of public affection, wasn’t much of a hand-holder and preferred to limit affectionate gestures to when they were actually alone, because it wasn’t anyone else’s business.

And now, the thumb brushing over his shoulder was the sweetest ‘I love you’ Newt could probably have made him. Those words had never been spoken between them.

They didn’t need to.

Since Brenda had, despite better knowledge, leapt into the conversation and was now actually discussing Prince Herbert’s sexuality, Teresa was the only one who noticed.

She saw the little smile on Minho’s lips, the way he looked at her best friend. Never before had she seen Minho display so obvious tenderness, maybe even love. So much vulnerability. As if Newt was the only person who could break his heart. It tore at her own heart, this little moment where Minho’s façade cracked just a tiny bit and showed that he had fallen hard for Newt. She wanted to throw something at the British man to make him notice, but deemed it too risky.

But maybe the beauty was in the fact that he wasn’t looking.

Teresa hoped that one day, somebody would look at her this way. Even if she wouldn’t notice.

* * *

Newt’s phone buzzed loudly on his nightstand, followed by an immediate responsive groan from Minho’s part.

Newt playfully nudged his shoulder before letting him go and reaching for his phone. Huh. Teresa? What did she want at this ungodly hour? And they’d seen each other not even an hour ago, she could’ve told him anything she wanted then.

_From: Teresa_

_newt, as your best friend, i really need to give you this piece of advice_

Newt raised his eyebrows. Wow, this was heavy-handed, even for her.

_keep him. trust me on this one. just do it._

He smiled a little. No idea why she was telling him that now, but he’d more than willingly obey.

The blond turned off his phone before sliding back beneath the sheets and wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist.

“Who was it?” Minho asked, his voice already heavy with sleep. They’d come back from dinner and just fallen into bed, skipping the funny business.

“Teresa.” Newt murmured.

“What’d she want? Another Monty Python character y’all wanna seduce?”

Newt smirked. “Nah. She only told me something I already knew.” His voice was soft, and Minho felt like his boyfriend meant more than what he was actually saying. But he was too sleepy to inquire further. There was a time and place for these things, and this was not it.

So he just nestled impossibly closer to Newt, savouring the way his boyfriend was glued against him. It was another thing they never talked about. Minho actually liked being the little spoon, feeling Newt’s arms around him, his legs tangled with his, his breath on his neck. Not that he’d ever admit that.

The last thing he consciously remembered before drifting off into sleep was Newt pressing a little kiss on his left shoulder.

Minho smirked contently. More evenings should end like this.


End file.
